


Moving Again

by appleblossom2



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 12:21:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2269479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appleblossom2/pseuds/appleblossom2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just when Skye starts getting attached to her foster family it is time to move again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moving Again

She sits in the backseat of the car, seatbelt strapped across her lap, her small Hello Kitty backpack filled with most of her meager belongings. Next to her in a cardboard box are the few pieces of clothes she has that still fit. They are worn and used, hand me downs from previous families that had daughters her age or older. She stares out the window watching the world go by in a stream of cars speeding down the interstate. They didn't want her. No one ever did, but this time it hurts. This time she made the one mistake she never had before. She wanted them. Wanted to be adopted by them. She had even called Mrs. Brody _Mom_ once and it felt right on her lips. In her heart. Mrs. Brody had smiled kindly that day and hugged her close, but here she is, riding in the back of this strange car, heading to a new foster home with a new social worker behind the wheel.

"This place is just temporary, Mary Sue," the social worker tells her, glancing in the rear view mirror at the dark haired girl in the back seat. "They don't have a bed at St. Agnes right now so we're improvising."

"My name is Skye," the little girl answers, never turning her attention from the cars packing the freeway as they drive east into the Valley. Skye Brody she thinks before reminding herself that she is really just Skye. She hates the name the orphanage gave her and as soon as she was old enough to decide on a name of her own she had chosen a new one.

The social worker seems interested and asks, "Why Skye?"

"It's better than Mary Sue Poots," the girl answers as she ponders the question in more detail. Finally she adds, "I like the color blue."

"Good enough," the woman replies before turning off the freeway and heading down several side streets until she finds a place to park. She climbs out of the driver's side door and opens the back door letting the little girl out before reaching for the box of clothing. "When we get you in a more permanent place I will take you shopping."

The girl nods, knowing that permanent is not something that applies to her. How many foster homes? How many schools? How many days just like this, starting over. She hates it with a passion but what can she do? She thought things with the Brody's were different but she was wrong. As they cross the street and approach the apartment building Skye vows never to become attached to any of them again. She watches as the social worker, she's forgotten her name already, buzzes number 108 and a moment later a woman's voice comes through the static of the speaker. Skye recognizes the language as Spanish and glances curiously at her social worker as she speaks it fluently back into the box in front of her. The gate buzzes and the woman grabs it with one hand, juggling Skye's box of clothes with the other, pulling hard to open the heavy metal door. The two of them head underneath the building's archway, passing through an area walled off with mailboxes and flyers, all in Spanish as well. When they step out into the courtyard, the first thing Skye sees is the pool. It is small and fenced in but kids are laughing and splashing away inside. Concrete walkways go down either side of it and all of the apartments in the two level building open into the courtyard. She sees bikes and skateboards littered around doorways and at the end on the left is a small Hispanic woman standing in front of her apartment. She waves a hand and the social worker starts forward leaving Skye behind. She wants to follow but her feet are frozen in fear. She hates these days the most. Meeting the new foster parents. Being scrutinized. Judged. Labeled.

"Skye," the social worker calls her name softly and the young girl slowly moves forward, anxiety clearly reflecting in her eyes. As they walk past the pool the kids stop their giggling and stare as Skye attempts to keep her eyes down. She knows that she is different. One of them laughs as she passes and she wonders if it is the Hello Kitty backpack. Or the t-shirt that has My Little Pony on it. Or the striped shorts that don't match. Maybe it is the worn Keds, gray now from having been used by more kids than Skye can imagine. She's never had anything new. Nothing in her bag of prized possessions was originally hers but she protects them anyway. She wishes she could pull the twin braids from her hair and let it flow straight down like a curtain, hiding her face from these kids and their stares, but she won't give them the satisfaction of seeing that they have upset her as she walks on by. When they get to apartment 108 Skye stares at the ground while the women talk. She doesn't understand a word they are saying until she hears the horrible name the orphanage gave her and then the name she gave herself. There is something likable about this social worker and Skye feels the beginnings of an attachment growing but she quickly crushes it. This woman is no more permanent than the last one. But she is nicer. The last one insisted on calling her Mary Sue and Skye had taken to ignoring her mostly whenever she would visit.

"Skye, this is Mrs. Rivera," the social worker says. "You'll be staying with her until I can line up another place or until a bed opens up at St. Agnes."

Skye nods, her eyes glancing up to the woman who isn't much taller than she is before dropping back down to the ground again. Mrs. Rivera motions them inside and Skye glances around the tiny apartment. In front of her is a small kitchen table with chairs for four and beyond that is a small U-shaped kitchen with just enough room for one person to move around. To the right is the living room, packed with a large sofa against the picture window and a small love seat against the far wall. The television is on and a teenage girl sits in front of it, glancing up once before returning her attention to her nails. Mrs. Rivera says something in Spanish, her words clipped and harsh and a moment later the teen is standing, making her way toward the hallway beyond the television.

"C'mon," she says, motioning to the girl. Skye takes her small box of clothes and follows behind, noting the small bathroom to the left of the hallway and two tiny bedrooms right next to each other. One is clearly Mrs. Rivera's and the teen goes into the other room. There are two twin beds, one messy, sheets hanging off the edge, the pillow askew, and the other made up nicely. The teen points to it and says, "That's yours."

Skye nods and drops her box on the bed before placing her backpack next to it. She knows the drill. Unpack. Keep things neat. Don't cause trouble.

"I'm Mariana," the teen says as she blows on her nails, waiting for them to dry. "You can have the top drawer. There's hangers in the closet if you need them."

Skye nods and opens the empty drawer assigned to her. It doesn't take long to place the few pairs of jeans and shorts she has in there as well as her shirts, underwear and socks. After that she hangs up her one good dress, in case they make her go to church, and places the shoes Mrs. Brody found for her at Goodwill on the floor just inside the closet. They are almost new. Barely scuffed. The backpack she leaves closed, worried that the teen will laugh at her things, or worse, try to take them. That had happened once. When she was seven. They took everything, not that there had been much, but no one had stopped them or believed Skye when she had told the foster parents. Mariana left the room while she unpacked but now she is back with her nail polish and kit. Skye doesn't know what to do or say so she kicks off her dirty Keds and climbs up on the bed, watching carefully as the teen paints her toes.

"Want me to do yours?" Mariana asks and Skye shakes her head no.

"Skye," the social worker says, appearing in the doorway. "I'm leaving now. I'll work on getting you a place to stay long term before school starts."

The girl nods, knowing that long term is relative. Staying with the Brody's had been the closest she had felt to being a part of a family. She had let herself hope. Believe. But reality came crashing back in and Skye knows it is better to just forget about them. She hates the tears that well up in her eyes at the thought of them being gone from her life. Hates the anxiety that fills her as she is left alone with yet another family. When she hears the door close the tears escape anyway and she pulls her knees up to her chest, wraps her arms around her legs and buries her face so no one can see the them. She wonders if someone will ever love her. If she will ever find a place in this world where she is not alone.

"Hey," Mariana's voice cuts through that voice of self pity and Skye looks up to see the teen holding out a bottle of light pink nail polish. "This will look really good on you. C'mon."

Slowly she creeps across the bed and crosses the small room. Mariana pushes the blankets aside on the bed and Skye sits down, holding out her left hand. The teen smiles at her and brushes a light coat of pink on the girl's tiny nails. When she's done she asks, "What do you think?"

"Thank you," Skye replies, her eyes meeting Mariana's gratefully. She may not be here long, but at least she knows it will be okay while she is.

The end


End file.
